


that boy, laughing.

by stellarisms



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarisms/pseuds/stellarisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But impossibilities can’t stop a child from dreaming — and they can’t stop Gon, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i will grow wings (and fly everywhere)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gon reflects on the purpose of beginnings and the possibilities his journey's many paths can offer.

Childhood wishes and midnight flights of fancy, Gon believes, are the stuff of legends.

Sure, they aren’t all realistic.  

Nor can all of them count as attainable goals. 

For example, if a child says they want to fly over the clouds someday— well, the adults might ask, indulgent, how can that be? 

Of course, that child almost surely has an answer: they know it can’t. 

But impossibilities can’t hold back a child’s imagination. 

A child will tell you how it can be.  That they’ll find a way to make it happen, that, somehow, they’ll borrow a set of wings and soar like a bird past the boundary of clouds hanging over the mountain peaks. 

That same child will turn around and remember what you told them at least three months ago: they know not all dreams come true. 

But impossibilities can’t stop a child from dreaming.

They can’t stop Gon, either.

 

* * *

 

It’s a big, big world out there.

Gon’s been dreaming of it, dreaming of seeing every corner of it since he was old enough to walk. 

Old enough to run, to traverse the crisscrossing docks of Whale Island without accompaniment, to chance a running leap from slippery river rock to moss-laden forest ground, to spend several days at a time camping and exploring the connected isles through bridges and borrowed boats.

Old enough to put a name the feeling which swelled all the more in his heart at every mention of his father, every whisper of the burdened title Ging carried with him far and away from here.

Wanderlust.

He would go, someday, to the sprawling continents that stretched beyond these comparatively small shores. 

Because as glad as he was for the atlases, the almanacs, the history books and travel guides, Gon knew. 

They couldn’t divulge to him what his senses, what his experiences, could.

He would go, someday, bringing invaluable tales and souvenirs of his travels back to Granny and Mito-san both.

Because as grateful as he was for their protection, for their care, for their kindness, Gon knew. 

He could look after himself, if he had to, as he learned how to thanks to their support all along.

He would go, someday, to the lands that called and beckoned for him.

Because as wishful thinking as it was, hopeful rather than probable, Gon refused to give up.

Earning his Hunter’s license was the one and only dream to ever make his heart swell like this.

 

* * *

 

Wishes. 

Hopes. 

Dreams. 

All powerful things. 

All miraculous things, moldable things.

Far more tangible, too, than adults allow themselves to believe they are.

And if there was one thing that Gon had learned over the past twelve years, it was that his beliefs had yet to lead him astray. 

Not his greatest dreams, his greatest hopes, or his greatest wishes.

Certainly not his greatest found treasure on the journey to self-actualization — someone with whom to share all those dreams, hopes, and wishes.

 

* * *

 

Gon is more agile than most boys his age, knows more about nature than some twice his age ever learned in school.

But if there’s one thing Gon wants to understand more than anything else, it’s why people and animals are always compared.

He has a few guesses why.

No one person’s the same as another.  It’s similar for animals, because just like humans wear different clothes and have different nose shapes, the animal world has its chosen adaptations. 

He gets it — the differences in diversity — but is that really all there is?

No one person can do as much as a group.  That’s why animals and humans form social groups, why so many gather together to protect and work together to increase their chances to survive.

He gets it — only the fit will make it — but is that the fairest way there is?

No one person’s contribution is the same.  It’s not quite the same for animals, but even when you know how an animal usually behaves, that doesn’t mean it’ll always act that way.

But he understands, now, why people hold onto those ideals.

He understands why people long for stability, for constancy.

He understands why people — like animals — seek that stability in one another.

 

* * *

 

But before one encounter leads to another, there are three.

Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio.

As much strangers as they are like long-forgotten storybook characters, Gon learns of them in scattered pages of rewritten histories twined. Afraid of departures untimely, afraid of misunderstandings unsightly.

Soon, they are a trio who start down the beginning of their journey and learn of one another — learn to be friends as much as companions — through watching and walking down the path ahead in bounding strides.

Gon, most of all, is surest and steadiest on his feet with the comfort of company at either side of him.

 

* * *

 

(“What would we do,” chides the cluck of Leorio’s tongue and the chime of Kurapika’s vague laughter, “without you, Gon?”

The answer, Gon finds in the ensuing months to follow, is that they’d do just fine without him.

But he, without them, just won’t do.)

 

* * *

  


Because he is.

They’re the same age but they’re far from similar.  

Nowhere close to being the same, no matter their synchronicity and actions in tandem.

He learns that from the moment they meet, from the moment the other boy rolls up on his skateboard next to him, introduces himself and notes that _we're the same age_ and decides _maybe running’s not so bad_ and matches his near silent footfalls to Gon’s momentum.

Still, there’s little to nothing about their brief interactions during the examination’s first phase that should make Killua think him strange.

If anything, Gon comes to realize in the weeks and months and years spent in camaraderie in their company of four, Killua’s the strange one.

He’s not.  Shy.  No, even if he’s not exactly conversational, shy isn’t the word Gon would use to describe Killua. 

Killua does like to keep to himself, though.  

Likes to keep things to himself.  

Thinks constantly of the value and virtue to solitary living.

Unlike Gon, who doesn’t like to think about future prospects indeterminate, Killua carries the weight of what ifs and how fars and till whens and never lets go.

Unlike Gon, who doesn’t like to think about separations in momentary encounters, Killua chooses detachment because it hurts less in the long run.

Unlike Gon, who doesn’t act “courageous” or “childish” or “charming” or any of the words people use to describe him on purpose, doesn’t make an effort to befriend and bestow kindness onto others because he’s learned how to trust — he simply does — Killua does not grant his trust or his truths or his too-few toothy smiles to everyone who crosses his path.

But strange as Killua can be — strange as he is — he gives Gon the one thing that Gon’s never known he needed:

A friend.


	2. friends (i watched us as we changed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gon reflects on the nature of smiles, promises made and saved, and how best to quantify & qualify a feeling without a name.

If someone were to ask Gon what he likes most, Gon would tell them flat out.

Smiles.

You can learn a lot through a smile.

The gesture alone speaks volumes.  Through their face, their eyes, you can learn so much about a person.

But nothing speaks more about a person’s insides — about the fractals of light and shadow in their heart — like a smile can.

Gon likes his friends.

They’re new companions, travelers on a journey of similar purpose, but they're his friends first and foremost.

 

* * *

 

His friends, first and foremost, have very revealing smiles.

 

* * *

 

Gon likes Kurapika.

Shrewd, sharp-eyed Kurapika.

Meticulous, mother hen Kurapika, who fusses over Killua and Gon like they were his own.

But when Gon sees Kurapika _smile_ , full of shadow and silhouettes and red-gold chain-link connections, he remembers none who are Hunters are without their vices, without their thinly-veiled viciousness and bared fangs whenever situations call.

Kurapika reasons, smiles, laughs when Gon mentions it.  When he is afraid, Kurapika’s hand rests on the crown of his hair.

(Red-gold warmth.)

Kurapika chases, dreams, fights for himself.  When they are in danger, Kurapika’s fingers clench around chosen weapons.

(Red-black resolve.)

Kurapika pauses, drifts, lingers at Leorio’s side.  If Gon watches them enough, Kurapika’s shadow smile softens.

(Red-silver lit ribbons.)

Like the warmest colors of autumn, Kurapika dances through the mist of his desires, undeterred by the dangers surrounding his destination.

Red, gold, deep royal blue.

Kurapika is undaunted, braver than Gon can recall or compare to anyone else he's ever known.

But Gon is afraid.

(Afraid for him and for where Kurapika’s redemption will lead him to next.)

 

* * *

 

Gon likes Leorio.

Brazen, boldfaced Leorio.

Jenny-pinching, just shy of paternal Leorio, who offers advice and counsel to Killua and Gon.

But when Gon sees Leorio _smile_ , all teeth and gums and sudden fragility exposed by green-brown hues like springtime leaf storms, he learns there is no such thing as an uncomplicated soul, no such person without their skeletons to deconstruct and their demons to seal far beneath unpacked memories.

Leorio tempers, tosses his temper around, teases Gon like, he imagines, an older brother.

(Patches up Gon’s wounds in bandages when he can’t wrap around his own.)

Leorio worries, works his way into their group of warriors, wearies their protective instincts.

(All or nothing, the winds of change whip around them in warning.)

Leorio greets the dawn, the moon, and then says goodbye.

(Against his fingertips gently grazing Kurapika’s, there's a photograph he keeps in his pocket, atop his cluttered dormitory desk, while he studies medical terminology and shuts his eyes to fond memories of wider spaces and welcome arms stretched wide.)

Like the seasons’ change, Leorio presses forward without cease, tentative when he leaves to their company and taller-standing when speaking of the ‘greater good.’

Beige, brown, green.

Leorio is unfettered, stronger than Gon remembers before he departed for a means to find himself.

But Gon is not.

(Not as strong for someone or as ready to sacrifice or as tender as Leorio when he speaks of promises he refuses to lose sight of.)

 

* * *

 

No photograph nor spoken word could capture how much Gon likes Killua.

There's quantities for everything, right?  For everything!

That's what Granny and Mito-san always said.

If it exists, there's a word or a name for it.

But even when there’s so many people he's yet to meet, Gon thinks to himself, he's almost sure Killua will be his favorite person of all.

When Killua smiles (he rarely does, not like Gon likes, without care and without regard to pressing obligations), he likes Killua even more.

“What're you grinning about,” Killua always asks when Gon can't help a spontaneous smile and he catches the other boy looking his way. Usually it's when he ‘just remembered’ something.

“I'm happy,” is almost always what Gon says.  Whether it’s true or not.

He's been taught about the power of white lies in friendship over the time he’s grown close to Kurapika and Leorio and Killua.

If it means anything to the other person’s well-being, you lie.

If it means they can keep smiling, you can protect that smile and lie.

If it means you can keep being happy, if it means you can keep the other person happy, you lie.

But Gon is an honest person at heart.

He hates to lie, besides.

So — most of the time — he only says that when he really is happy.

 

* * *

 

 

And, truthfully, Gon is happiest in moments like these most of all.  

When Killua’s happy, Gon’s happy.  

When they find new reasons to smile and laugh, when Killua smiles and laughs at him, with him, Gon’s happy, too.

When they're side by side, the world doesn't seem quite as big and Gon is happier still.

When they’re side by side, the sky doesn’t feel as faraway as it did before.

When they’re side by side, it’s that much easier to smile and face the same direction together.

Gon likes Killua's smile when they're pressed side by side like this, laced hands and sweaty palms and lack of space in the airship compartment and all.  

Gon likes Killua's _real_ smile, the shy and silly and somewhat catlike little smiles he never seems to give to anyone else but Gon.

And even if he doesn’t get it (neither does Killua, calling him embarrassing and shoving at his arm enough to make him whine and complain, but it’s still not enough to make either of them let go), it’s okay.  

Gon’s sure of it.

It’s okay, Gon thinks, because he likes Killua enough to forget to worry about everything else.

 

* * *

 

He likes Killua more than Choco-Robos, more than any of the 'mania' ladies on Whale Island who went on dates with him.

(More than anything.)

He likes Killua more than smiles could ever tell Killua back, he realizes in missteps and years down the tangled lines crossed, more than any words or gestures could ever express.

(Always has, always will.)

He likes when Killua smiles for him, likes when Killua bursts into senseless and spirited laughter with him, likes when Killua swears to stick around him till he finds what he's looking for.

Because Gon knows, surer than sure, that Killua means it.

 

* * *

 

Gon knows he shouldn't think it.

Gon knows it’s selfish of him in the worst of ways.

Gon knows that he _shouldn_ ’t, warned against by so many adults who sometimes do know better.

But he almost wishes Killua never does find it — that ‘something’ he’s looking for — somewhere out there in the big wide world they’re traveling through.

So he doesn't have to go anywhere and Gon will always have Killua’s reassurance to turn around and find in the shadows that trail a little ways behind.

So Gon can smile and laugh and settle down free and at ease like he believes, beyond the shadows of all his doubts and insecurities, Killua likes the feeling of most, too.

So Gon can figure out what he's feeling around his best friend, keep feeling what he's kept feeling ever since he met Killua and keep at bay his deepest, deepest fear of all, something he fears more than anything else he's ever experienced in twelve years of living:

A feeling he can’t name.


	3. you've got that young blood (set it free)

 

Surrounded by forest thickets and founded by the parental guidance of the port town’s many adults, Gon learns there’s no better way to make himself stronger than to struggle.

To struggle is to fight.

To fight means paving as many roads as ingenuity allows from advice and chances taken.

That’s how Gon discovered, time and again, the secret to fishing: trial and error.

To take advice when it carries water well but give it away when it drags down the boat.

Anything that’s tried to sink him, tried to keep him grounded, Gon refused.

So Gon’s policy in fights has always been to struggle.

To struggle is to fight, to take chances, to hold on and carry on knowing all is not lost.

All is never lost, Gon believes from the bottom of his heart, as long as he has hope.

Until he closes his eyes, fades in and out of consciousness to the wavering reverb of his face crashing into concrete tiles, Gon believes he hasn’t lost.

He hasn’t lost anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Except in his dreams (all strange dreams, almost a nightmare, or is it? Is it a nightmare? He wakes afraid and gasping for breath like he’s held it too long underwater), Gon loses something important to him.

He climbs stairs that wind around crumbling towers, cradle cases of gold crowns that melt into ashes.

In his dreams, Gon’s sure he’s lost something important to him.

Something that important to him couldn’t be gone that quick, though.

Except he can’t remember what it is or why he’s so distressed over not having it anymore.

Something that important to him couldn’t be gone forever, could it?

Except he can’t remember where he left it (behind him? In front of him) or why his chest aches as he runs and runs and runs through shadowed airship corridors for a flicker of silver-toned light in the dark, tripping around corners for it, reaching out for it, crying out to it in a hoarse panic-stricken voice--

Something important.

Something important to him.

What was it that he kept chasing so recklessly again?

He can’t remember, Gon realizes as his eyes refocus to Satoz-san at his bedside and the twinge in his splintered arm wakes with him, what he was dreaming about at all.

 

* * *

 

“You’re awake, I see.”

Then again, Mito-san always said if you forget a dream, it must not have been very important.

“Where…?”

It’s the only thing Gon can think of asking after he’s sat up abruptly from his pillows.

“A waiting room, next to the arena for the Final Phase.”

Satoz-san places a book now closed in his lap onto the table beside him.

Gon’s eyes refocus, discovering through the aerial window the changed position of the sun and the cloud movement outside the airship that he’s been in the waiting room resting for a long time.

More than just a few hours, Gon notes to the dulled thunk of chair legs scooting across the rug, if not longer.

“Right.” His hand closes around the comforter tangled around his folded legs. “I was in the middle of the Hunter Exam.”

“Your arm should heal quickly enough,” Satoz-san tells him, regaining Gon’s attention. “It was a clean break, so the bone should be even stronger than it was before, if anything.”

He’s surprised -- Hanzo, he remembers in face and in name, may not have been as merciless as he claimed -- but Satoz-san isn’t finished.

“In any case,” it’s thanks to Satoz-san’s palm outstretched that Gon sees the casebook lying beside his pillow for the first time, “congratulations on passing the exam.”

Gon doesn’t move.

“Satoz-san,” Gon’s frown almost makes his brow furrow, “I can’t--”

He almost says it -- _I can’t accept it, I can’t take a win that wasn’t even based on a fair struggle, this casebook shouldn’t belong to someone like m_ \-- but Satoz-san doesn’t let him.

“You can.”

His hands are unearthly cold, Gon feels at once, when one clasps firm over his forearm.

The other holds gentle at his uninjured hand.

“Just as someone who has failed the exam can no longer pass,” Satoz-san refuses to let go and Gon, despite the guilt that churns something fierce in his stomach, can’t bring himself to let him, “someone who has passed the exam can no longer fail.”

“What happens after this,” Satoz-san’s unyielding gaze makes Gon start, blinking fast in the face of his steeled grip, “is up to you.”

“If you feel you’re unqualified to be a pro, you’re free to destroy or put away your license.” Gon’s eyes widen a fraction when he imagines the possibility (he wouldn’t, not when he’s come all this way, traveled this far!), until Satoz-san tells him, “You can even sell it, since no one else will be able to use it.”

“However,” Satoz-san’s tone lowers in warning, “a person who has passed the exam will not be allowed to take it again.”

“Professional Hunters are treated well, largely due to our predecessors’ efforts. Hence, there are many applicants who harbor ill intentions.” Tonpa, Gon thinks of immediately, hesitates at length when he considers Hisoka, too. “If it weren’t for them, we would accept every person who applied.”

The implications are clear.

Gon opens the case file held out to find the thick silver-lined Hunter’s License cradled inside.

“Many professional Hunters consider this card more valuable than their own lives,” Satoz-san describes, “yet no more than a worthless scrap of paper at the same time.”

“The most important thing," he goes on to say, “is what you accomplish once you become a Hunter.”

Gon’s mouth falls open, shuts as soon as he understands.

This License represents a memory, inscribed in symbols and numbers, made through the trials he’s faced over the time spent here.

This fight he feels was lost represents the trials he still has to overcome to grow that much stronger as a fighter.

As a Hunter.

“What I accomplish…” The more he thinks about it, the higher that obstacle climbs. Like the tower in his dreams he struggled to climb.

Like the uncatchable light that moved too fast for him to catch up to, even with a struggle.

“Gon-kun.” Satoz-san removes the License from his casebook for him, holds the card out to him. “You can decide for yourself when you’re ready to use this card. I have faith in your judgement.”

His eyes flit from Satoz-san’s unreadable face (though he wonders if he’s imagined the flicker of fondness that crosses those pale buttonlike eyes) to the License awaiting his decision.

When he takes the card, it’s both lighter and heavier than Gon expects.

Light in terms of literal weight.

“A lot of people helped me reach this point.” I’s heavy for that reason alone, and Gon smiles as he reflects on each of them: Leorio’s tenacity, Kurapika’s sympathy. Ponzu’s ingenuity and Netero’s joviality. Tonpa’s dishonesty and Hisoka’s trickery. “I’ll use this once I’ve returned the favor.”

“Then allow me to congratulate you,” Satoz-san holds out his hand again.

“Thanks, Satoz-san.” Gon means it, too, squeezes it back the way he deserves -- and then he asks, “So what happened to the other applicants? The exam’s still going on, right?”

What Satoz-san’s hardening stare tells him even before the admission leaves his lips:

“No, the exam is over.”

 

* * *

 

When Satoz-san explains that Gon’s slept nearly an entire day away, the first thing Gon thinks is _that must be why I had so many dreams._

When Satoz-san mentions a brief orientation session that Gon will attend later, the first thing Gon wonders is _why didn’t they wake me up sooner?_

When Satoz-san pauses after that, too long a pause for Gon to feel comfortable, the first thing Gon asks is _who failed?_

The silence that separates Satoz-san’s answer and Gon’s fearful premonitions (he remembers, now, bits and pieces of what he dreamed about before waking) confirm what he should have already known.

“The only one who failed,” Satoz-san says, “was Killua.”

 


	4. life goes on without you (in the wake)

 

They are Hunters but they are not any less human beneath that label.

He thinks prudent by force of habit, speaks pragmatics on occasion, acts mischievous by inclination.

But Killua is only twelve.

Like Gon.

He gives Leorio reason to grind his teeth and grouse about kids these days, grants Kurapika the benefit of doubt.

But Killua is no perfect child.

Nor is Gon.

He wears casual clothes in the occasional clashing color scheme, though he never claimed to want the garb or motif of a commonplace hero.

Unlike Gon.

But just because Killua came from a family of assassins, Gon’s fist clenches and unclenches in unconscious measures as Satoz-san recounts the events that transpired while he slept, doesn’t mean he would kill someone for no reason.

Not Killua.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles suddenly, to not Satoz-san stopped in mid-sentence but himself, as he kicks the covers out from under him. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Should I accompany you,” Satoz-san doesn’t rise from his seat but he looks ready to go after Gon at any moment, “wherever it is you’re going?”

“It’s fine,” Gon answers, so flippant that he almost forgets how painful his nails digging into the inside of his palm closed into a fist behind his back. “I just remembered I have a favor to return, that’s all.”

 

* * *

 

Gon does intend to come back, of course, so it isn’t really a lie he’s told.

Beneath the tumultuous haze leaving his waning elation at finally receiving his official Hunter’s License and the many happenings of the last month or so, Gon is afraid.

Gon is afraid of how afraid he’s become, of white lies and uncontrollable heartbeats, of a future as a Hunter standing alone he can’t even imagine.

Afraid, most of all, of how he can’t even imagine how afraid Killua must have been.

 

* * *

 

Gon knows, deep down.

This isn’t his place.

But all eyes facing toward Netero and the other Examiners from their lecture hall seats are on him when he throws open the door to the conference room.

All except for one.

“Apologize to Killua.” From the back of his head, from a profile view, this person is no one that Gon knows. No one Gon wants to know.

Now, now, Illumi Zoldyck looks at him.

“Apologize?” It takes three bated breaths, then Illumi adds, “For what?”

“You don’t know,” Gon’s voice doesn’t quake or quaver, even if his hand does, “what you did wrong?”

“Nope.”

So casual.

So carefree.

As if this person -- clearly a skilled hypnotist, if not a Manipulator type, Satoz-san practically shouted to warn him when he stormed off -- had nothing to do with Killua’s departure.

Gon has no doubt.

“You don’t have the right,” Gon’s fist coils into itself, “to call yourself his brother.”

“Is that a right I need to earn?” According to you, the droll little snub that joins Illumi’s austere eyes say, trailing left and away from him.

An obstinate part of Gon must have coaxed free the motions of his tongue and mind.

It must have been a force of unstoppable motion, Gon will think later, that made him reach out and grab Illumi’s arm (eerily still, clammy, like the palm-sized Rubberfish that Gon learned how to catch from woodland streams when he was small), too, before any sense of logic could follow the motion.

Motion that Gon produces when flinging Illumi from his seat and flipping him over his head.

Illumi’s landed just fine, somehow. Probably manipulated his body to land that way. His eyes regard Gon with an even stare.

This time, though, Illumi doesn’t look away.

“You don’t.” He feels his grip tightening, feels the malleable skin under his hold give way and bend, but Gon doesn’t relent. “But he doesn’t need to earn the right to be my friend, either.”

Illumi tries to move his arm then.

A single pull at the vice wound around him -- a tighter squeeze on Gon’s part -- and they reach a standstill.

It turns them both around, if nothing else.

“I don’t want sorrys.” Not his pity, not his apathy, either. “As long as you take me to where Killua is, that’s good enough.”

“And then what?”

“Obviously,” Gon’s gaze hardens, “I’m gonna bring him back.”

Even when Netero-san steps in to revert their attention back to the front of the room to discuss the matter at hand, Gon’s own hand doesn’t retract until Illumi reaches for him.

He refuses.

Even when Kurapika and Leorio speak on Killua’s behalf, when the other newly-crowned Hunters speak in opposition of their claims, Gon’s strength to struggle doesn’t disappear.

Just like his hope.

Even when the matter is settled in its own way, rebuttals refused and ceasefires accepted, individual and joined paths chosen of their own volition, Gon refuses to give up.

Not even in his dreams -- and certainly not now.

 

* * *

 

Gon is selfish, knows he’s selfish through and through.

He has good intentions, deep down, and he knows this struggle doesn’t just belong to him.

Plus, he’s not alone anymore!

After all, he has Kurapika and Leorio, the kind of faithful friends he’s read about in stories and Mito-san’s orations of local lore that accompany the main character from the start of their journey to wherever their travels lead them.

The roads and terminals they run alongside are marked by scenery way prettier than any picture Gon’s ever seen.

The summer-bound sunset’s shimmer and sights of lively living people in their cars lining the junction bridge should ease Gon’s eyes at best, make him nostalgic for Whale Island’s natural splendor at worst.

But, instead, all Gon can think about is how much he’d like to show Killua these sights, too.

 

* * *

 

He wants to tell Killua about all the crazy dreams he had while he was asleep for an entire day.

He wants to buy Killua a chocolate pastry from the train attendant’s filled-up food cart.

He wants to make Killua laugh, make him break into a true blue Killua smile when he points out the way Leorio snorts in his sleep or the way Kurapika’s feet prop themselves on Leorio’s lap like it’s nothing, joke around with his best friend like they always do about how the two of them are like a married old couple that bicker and shove at each other but, at the end of the night when they’re all settled down in their hotel double beds, they lie down side by side and fall asleep looking more comfortable next to each other than anywhere else in the world.

 

* * *

 

_...I mean, they’re kinda like us. We’re more comfortable together than anywhere else too, right, Killua?_

_I guess. But we’re not practically married like Leorio and Kurapika are._

_\--Awww._

_‘Awww’ what?_

_I was just thinking it’d be kinda nice._

_What’d be nice?_

_Being married. I don’t really get the whole romantic part of it, but. Wouldn’t it be kinda nice to be with someone you’re happy with and stick with them for the rest of your life?_

_Someone you wanna stick with for the rest of your life...you already had someone in mind?_

_Mmm, well, I was thinking it’d be kinda nice if I was married to you, Killua._

_W-What the hell-- why me, though?_

_Well, Mito-san told me once that some people get married to their best friend. Which sounds kinda nice, all ‘n all. You get to be with someone you like being around and you’re both happy ’cause best friends living together can’t be a bad thing. So -- if I had to get married to someone right now, I’d wanna get married with you._

_...pid...don’t...embarrassing..._

_Hmm? Your ears’re turning red, Killua. What’s wrong._

_...uess ...ick you...too..._

_W-Wait. Hold on. What’d you say, Killua? I didn’t hear._

_Too bad for you, then, ‘cause I’m not saying it again._

_Ah, no fair -- I didn’t get to hear what you said! You talk way too quiet sometimes._

_And **you** talk way too loud. And too much._

_Killuaaaaaaaa._

_S-Stupid, don’t look at me like that and make me say it aga-- I-I said I’d pick you, okay? I’d pick you. Too. Y’know. For the whole hypothetical Marry Somebody This Instant thing._

_Hehe. Then it’s official._

_What is?!_

_Mmhmm! So -- let’s do it! Let’s get married, Killua!_

 

* * *

 

(Most of all, he wants to see Killua again, needs to see Killua again.

He wants to see that real true blue Killua smile again.

The kind of smile that makes Gon as happy as he hopes he can make Killua.)

 


	5. you did not break me (i’m still fighting for peace)

 

Experience is the greatest teacher of all.

Gon learns many things on his journey. 

There are things of value, things of valor, things more venerated than deserving.

There are things unvirtuous, frivolous, lessons within lessons waiting to be found. 

Each and every one, Gon remembers.

 

 

* * *

 

“Kurapika,” Gon approaches the second-oldest just before they retreat to their respective sides of the train car compartment, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”  Kurapika never turns Gon away when he comes to him so earnestly.  “From the look on your face, it must be something important.”

“Sort of.”  Gon’s feet sway as he plops into the adjacent seat.  “It’s a silly question, probably.”

“The only silly questions,” Kurapika chides him, parental voice already emerging, “are the ones you never ask.”

Gon thinks he should’ve expected that.

“If somebody told you they’d grant you three selfish wishes - anything you want - what would you wish for?”

Kurapika sighs and, to the observant boy who follows his sidelong glance to the shadowed scenery outside the window, his hesitation speaks more than his answer.

“For starters,” Kurapika tells him, “I’d want some kind of proof this person could truly grant the rest of my wishes.  So my first wish would be for them to conjure something of material worth right into my hand.”

“Like what?” 

“I...suppose something practical.  Money or food.  To test this ‘genie.’ and their abilities.”

“What about your second wish, then?”  Gon’s curiosity urges him on. 

That, at least, lightens the indecisive hue to Kurapika’s visage.

“Vengeance for my clan, of course.”  A touch reproachful, if not self-indulgent.  “Well, maybe I should be more specific than that.  Genies have a tendency of being detail-for-detail, after all.  I’d probably wish for vengeance in the form of long-term physical and psychological injury to those of the Phantom Troupe...death shouldn’t come too swift, lest it couldn’t be called equivalent exchange.”

“You want them to suffer as much as you have.”  Kurapika looks surprised, but Gon’s understanding doesn’t end there.  “Makes sense.  After what they put you through, it’s only natural.”

Maybe it’s the way Gon says so that bids them both pause.

“My third wish,” Kurapika says after several beats, “is a lot more.  Difficult to explain.”

That piques Gon’s interest.  

“Why?”

“Well.”  If Gon’s eyes weren’t accustomed to the darkness, he would have missed the slight flush to Kurapika’s cheeks.  “It’s a wish that’s far less substantial than the other two.  It’s silly, in fact.  And it’s...not quite selfish.”

“Aren’t all wishes are selfish, though?”  Gon leans forward in his seat, whispers rising in pitch.  “If it’s a secret, though, don’t worry!  I won’t tell Killua after we rescue him.  Or Leorio.”

The name of the oldest in their group stirs something in Kurapika’s guarded gaze.

“My third wish would be for Leorio,” Kurapika’s hands, folded in his lap, wring out the last of his invisible doubts, “to be—”

Several rows in front of them, Leorio’s snort-grumble punctuates the rest of his snores.

Kurapika starts.

Gon giggles.

“He’s fast asleep,” Gon assures the alarmed Kurapika.  “Killua says you can always tell.  If he starts to breathe funny, that’s when he’s about to wake himself up.” 

“He would,” Kurapika lets out a quiet and relieved little laugh. 

“He does,” Gon confirms.  “And like I said, don’t worry!  Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Secret?”

“You worry about Leorio a lot,” Gon beams, “and that’s not silly.  Just means you care.”

There’s a strange glow to Kurapika’s eyes when Gon turns to him.

It’s not the color that unsettles him. 

They’re still the same subdued color from before Leorio snoring spooked them into silence. 

It’s a comforting color that Gon registers.  Something just shy of affectionate. 

But it wasn’t for him.

“I do.”  The private admission spoken as quiet as it was, only the keenest of ears would catch the startled revelation in it.  “I do care for Leorio.  It’s...selfish of me, but - if I could wish for anything else - it would be for someone as kind as him to never have any reason to be unhappy.”

“Happy,” Gon wonders aloud, “with you or without you?”

It’s when Kurapika laughs that Gon figures out what that expression meant.

“Whichever,” Kurapika replies, eyes going - for once - only red at the edges, “makes him happiest.”

 

 

* * *

 

What Gon doesn’t tell Kurapika is that - no matter how selfish or how selfless the reasons for it - wishing for someone’s happiness is the ultimate expression of care. 

What Gon doesn’t tell Canaria is that - no matter how different two people’s worlds may be - he believes in what brought him and Killua together in the first place.

What Gon doesn’t tell anyone after Killua walks out of that estate with them - not Leorio, not Kurapika, not even Killua - is that he’s learned the meaning of happiness a long time ago.

 

* * *

 

 

(He learned that lesson from an old favorite saying of Mito-san’s.

One person may mean the world to you.

But you never know whether you’re someone else’s whole world.)


	6. if you get lost, you can always be found.

On nights as restless and warm as this, Gon can’t settle down to sleep at all.

He tosses.  

He turns.

He takes to several rolling leaps of logic and waking-dreams entire adventures in his headspace and tries to make the images powerful enough.

But they don't tire him out like he wants them to, like they normally do for him.

Well, the hotel staff **did** say summers in this town have always been “unpredictable.”  Gon just hadn't believed it till now.  So maybe it’s something in the air.  

Maybe.

Lying on his side always feels weird.  Hotel mattresses are weird, sometimes, but Gon’s always felt most comfortable sleeping on his back.

Back on the island, he’d take to exploring the midlands and forests and lie there awake, canopies of leaves and stars cradling him to sleep.  There are even larger sceneries to be seen and appreciated now that he’s been traveling this long.

But he does miss it sometimes.

Home.

It’s what he calls Whale Island when he tells others about it, where he writes to Mito-san and Granny in his grand narratives and travel logs.

It’s what he’s begun to build and rebuild within his old ideals, apart from Whale Island, while traveling for the long road still ahead.

It’s what he misses most on this journey, if only the concept of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Gon looks right out the window, where the cityscape surrounds their second-floor hotel room and the nightlife still tempts some awake.

And then Gon looks left.

He sees Killua, then, fast asleep in the bed nestled up next to his.

Even when he’s like this, Gon's learned over the past year, there’s an energy surrounding Killua.  Like fuzzy lightning clouds contracted around to cloak his catlike form.

If it’s instinctual, Gon doesn't know why.

Or, if it isn’t, then Gon suspects that Killua’s never learned any other way to sleep other than the lightest form of it.

Or if he learned the hard way.

(Fingers clench beneath the coverlets.

He thinks of what Killua’s told him, how Illumi answered him, the weight of absence and understanding its purpose after the final phase of the Hunter’s Exam.

Thinks of what it meant to him then, what it means to be here now, and then his nails become marginally less like needles to the inside of his palms.)

“Killua,” Gon suddenly whispers, knowing full well there’s no need for quiet.  There’s no Kurapika and Leorio in the beds opposite them, now.  “What floor did you get to today?”

When Killua’s eyelids lift — just a fraction, like he’s been expecting the question all along — he looks at the clock before he does Gon.

"Same floor as you," the other boy answers back.  Like he’s onto something.  "Didn’t we just talk about this not even four hours ago?"

There isn't much, Gon realizes then, they haven’t talked about at length.

“Killua,” whispers Gon, loud enough to hear but not nearly as loud as his shuffling to inch between their mattresses, “I can't sleep.”

Gon isn’t surprised that Killua, softer than a cat’s bell, laughs at that.

"Obviously."  What’s strange to Gon is that Killua looks sleepy, for once, as he sidles over closer and props his elbows behind his head.  “Tomorrow’s one-sided match-ups got you all wired or what?”

“I’ve just been thinking,” Gon starts, pauses to giggle a bit despite himself.  “And don’t say 'that's a first' like you always do."

"'kay, fine."  To the even measures of Killua’s lethargic voice touched by amusement, Gon’s eyes flutter shut briefly. “That's new, then.”

" _Killua_ ," whines Gon, wriggling against the silver-haired boy’s side in bed.

“Gooooon.”  He rarely, if ever, plays along, but Killua must be in a good mood tonight; Gon gets several playful pokes to his stomach, too.

“Seriously, though, we'll be almost up to The Floor tomorrow.  Don't let that keep you up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried,” huffs Gon, slumped on his side facing Killua, “about any of the matches in Heaven's Arena.”

He's excited for what lies at the 200th floor and beyond, of course, but Gon knows Killua already knows that.

“I’ve been thi— wondering about something.  About you, Killua.”

“What about?” Killua isn’t interested yet, no more invested in what Gon’s wondering than the number of specks on the nearby wall, yet he doesn’t seem to have turned Gon away entirely.  He never does.

“If you could live anywhere — anywhere in the world you wanted — where would you want to be?”

Gon likes catching Killua off-guard like this, even when he doesn’t mean to.  

Especially when he doesn’t mean to.

“Hnm, I dunno..somewhere with plenty of space?”  His response is noncommittal, not detached, slight fluctuation in his pitch letting Gon know he’s really considering it.  “Big enough to keep all the stuff I plan on buying when I get my own place, anyway.”

At first, Killua’s incredulousness seems just short of skepticism, until he turns toward the ceiling and asks, “What about you?”

Gon, for his part, wasn’t expecting his nearing-midnight question to be turned on him.

He does stop to think about it, naturally.  Gives it several beats, several seconds.  A half-minute ticks away in complete silence.

Killua’s patience surprising as it is unnerving.

Gon doesn't expect him to lie and wait as long as he does, but Killua always surprises him.

These days more than ever, he finds, Killua’s given him more than his fair share to think about.

“I guess,” Gon hums at last, done ruminating what his dream home on Whale Island would look like, “I'd be happy wherever I make my home.”

“So it doesn't matter where,” Killua asks, perplexed, “just as long as you get to call it ‘home’?”

“Yeah."  Gon smiles, watches Killua’s face settle into a vague little grin as he looks back at Gon, and a sudden warm fizz lights inside him.  “Wherever it ends up being, I’d call it home as long as it feels right...like when I’m with you, Killua.”

Gon’s never seen Killua’s face get so red.

“Do you even know what time it is, you—!?  Look, if you wanna talk till the sun comes up, go right ahead."  Now flipping over until his back faces Gon, Killua throws the thickest blanket over himself — an awful cover, Gon bites his tongue to keep from chuckling, for his ears turning pink.  “I’ll be asleep from now until dawn, though!  So...knock yourself out and have fun doing that alone, I guess."

What’s strange isn’t that Gon nudges his way, bit by bit, over to his roommate’s blanket fortress.

Gon’s far more taken aback by the simmering rising up to his chest, like floating lanterns set loose from the shore, like the ocean-honoring festival in autumntime where the busy and the bustling piers and boats in the marina fall as still and as reverent as the entire township nearest to the sea.

While Whale Island’s denizens stare out at the horizon, its as though they too have begun to stand by, transfixed.

As though they too have stopped in collective silence to pay tribute to those of legendary tales of old and those who lived not so long before.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not cold at all tonight.

But Killua’s shy gaze peeks out from under the blanket when Gon’s warm toes rest up against his and careful, hesitant, Killua moves the sheets aside to let Gon slip inside to join him.

“Don’t complain later that you’re hot,” mumbles Killua.  “You know my body temperature’s different from yours.”

He knows, but Gon hardly cares.

There’s a faint huff of laughter from both boys as they fuss and fidget a bit to reorganize their entwined limbs.

All of those things are worthy of just as much praise, Gon thinks, and just as much late-night consideration.

 

* * *

 

Though to Gon, nothing is so difficult to fathom as these three things:

The strange little shiver that flickers down his spine.

The giddy jump in his throat when Killua’s arm slips around him once he’s mistaken Gon’s steadied breaths for sleep.

The chagrined murmur that accompanies it — _if home's wherever I’m with you, then what does that make me?_ — is what finally makes Gon realize the feeling he’s felt has a name.

 

* * *

 

(It’s _hope_ , Gon mouths into the swell of Killua’s shoulders, and drifts off while clinging to Killua’s back with the intention of never letting go.)

 


End file.
